


perfect disasters

by peppermintsolace (orphan_account)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Multi, Sleepy Boys, everyone is good friends, partially luke centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/peppermintsolace
Summary: i could send a group text to the boys and see if any of them are out and about? then at least i’d know if any of them would be willing to harbour a moody uterus owner for an extended length of time.





	1. Chapter 1

i nervously fiddle with a pair of unfortunately bloodied panties, weighing my options. on one hand, i can risk a pad, hoping the fucker won’t leak (i swear, those things can sense fear), and run to the market by myself with first-day cramps (the worst) and a significant absence of painkillers. the flaw in that plan is that with the state i’m in, i’d probably end up buying the entire candy aisle; something neither my wallet, or body, would be able to survive.

in contrast, i _could_ send a group text to the boys and see if any of them are out and about? then at least i’d know if any of them would be willing to harbour a moody uterus owner for an extended length of time.

biting my thumb, i toss my soiled undies into the sink, flicking the faucet to spew cold water. rustling around in the mirror cabinet, i recover the peroxide stashed for just this occasion, while simultaneously trying to see if i can somehow come up with a tampon that i might’ve missed the first two times i searched. i sigh in defeat, rubbing the sleep from my eyes when none are to be found.

worried i’ll forget what i’m doing, i dump a generous amount of peroxide onto the puddle of blood that started this whole mess, letting the chemical substance foam up. the stain rises, to my satisfaction, so i stick the gross liquid mixture under the cool flow, scrubbing what’s left away with my thumbs, watching it swirl down the drain.

my panties are hung on the towel rack to dry and i wipe my hands on my cartoon turtle covered t-shirt. i realize i still need a clean pair of underwear, so i snatch a pad from my spare cache in the dirty clothes hamper, venturing back to my room. 

luke’s toucan boxers lay in a wrinkled heap on the floor and i strain to remember when _that_ happened, bending at the waist to pick them up. i almost sniff them before recoiling to think about it. with them belonging to _luke_ , the messiest little shit i’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, there’s a great possibility that they’ve been worn _at least_ three days straight, without being washed, and who knows how long they’ve sat in my nasty-ass floor. _but am i too desperate to care?_ is the argument that i present myself.

_yes, i kinda am,_ i find myself mentally replying as i pull the backing off of the pad. the adhesive barely clings to the soft material of the briefs, so i quickly slide them up my legs before it has time to peel completely. i’m surprised the waistband isn’t squeezing the life out of me, considering how skinny lucas is. examining my reflexion on my vanity, i’m pleased to see that the color scheme blends easily with my “sweet reptile” shirt.

now more comfortable than i’ve been since i fell asleep last night, i splay across my bed, reaching for my phone to text 5sos.

_hey bbs. would any of you_  
_happen to be outside or_  
_some shit on this hellsent day?_

calum, the first response i get, is wondering who the _fuck_ pissed in my cheerios, followed by confused, innocent, lukey being confused. not long after, i receive two more buzzes from my device.

_call me. xxashxx_

and

_lukes ovr want m 2 come get u_

mikey’s lack of a shit towards grammar makes me grin. i’m a little astounded by how well he knows me, though i really shouldn’t be.

i press the _call_ button next to the menu that pops up when i click ashton’s contact, hearing the dial tone ring out a few times before he picks up.

“calum get up,” i hear him yell at his flatmate as soon as the line connects, cringing away from the speaker. 

“we’re heading out now. wha’d’you need, babe?” ashton’s also been dealing with me long enough to know when a specific curse of mother nature might be in effect, just by how much hatred i display over text.

“uh, super plus and mint chocolate chip? if we’re all stayin’ round michael’s, we’ll probably need food ‘n’ shit too. it’ll be a while ‘fore i leave, anyway.”

“want me to bring you one of my hoodies or something?” he suggests, ignoring calum who i hear in the background pitching a hissy fit.

“yeah, that’d be great. thanks honey,” i nickname him in that couple-y way that we so-often do, meandering around, looking for a pair of converse to put on. i know i must look pretty ridiculous — with no pants, rainbow pink floyd knee-highs, and luke’s underwear — but these guys have seen me butt naked (a whole _different_ story, okay) so i don’t guess it really matters.

“love you!” ash giggles into the receiver, and i know he won’t hang up until i say it back.

“love ya too, bye,” i reciprocate the mandatory farewell, letting him end the call and placing my phone into one of my tall, gay socks. it vibrates again, interrupting my taking a potentially lethal dose of extra-strength tylenol, letting me know that mikey’s on my property, probably literally ruining the grass in my front lawn, the insensitive motherfucker.

closing and locking my door behind me, i bound down the steps to get in the car. lucas stares at me through the passenger-side window, so i climb into the backseat.

his mouth gapes, like a human drowning in water, unable to process words. my eyebrows climb higher as his struggle intensifies, but he eventually succeeds, indignant.

“are those mine?” luke ponders, bright red.

“they might've been,” i don’t hesitate, “not anymore, though.”

“w-what— “

mike cuts his stutter off, “just— don’t try, luke,” and jabs the stereo to life, blasting ed sheeran’s “new york,” a song only in his possession because of my teenage obsession to the english singer. i thank him and pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly cold. frowning, i maneuver my pajama shirt to rest over my calves, surrounded by my own body heat to conserve warmth.

the cd skips a couple times with how old and used it is, making up its mind and playing “photograph” next. i start to sing, swapping uncertainly between screechy falsetto and my actual voice. lukey joins, soft and melodious, pushing me into using my natural, kind of deep _ish_ -for-a-girl tone to blend. mikey’s rasp fights its way in, the trio of us harmonizing shittily to one of my favorite albums.

the fifteen minutes it takes to get to michael’s flat passes quickly with five more tracks. the travel time makes me wonder, why they took so long to pick me up to begin with, so i ask.

“why’d y’all take so long to come get me?”

“well,” mike starts, almost like a grand storyteller. then he casually continues, “luke didn’t wanna come, and i wasn’t gonna just leave him to burn my house down or some shit, i dunno. anyway, i had to drag his tall-ass—”

“hey!” the youngest hemmings stretches across the center console, presumably to beat the remaining hair out of the balding twenty-three year old.

“oi!” i yelp, not particularly wanting to die yet, reaching for his bony flailing wrist, barely keeping him from clocking his bandmate. “hem, he’s drivin’ and you a grown-ass man. calmeth thy malicious intent.”

we pull into the driveway before luke can fight anybody else, and i wave to ashton, who sits grumpily on the stairs leading to the entrance.

“door’s locked.” he greets, jabbing an accusatory thumb in the face of the problematic object between him and the building’s impeccable electric heating unit.

“no it’s not?” mike questions at the same time that i enthuse that the door is in fact _not_ locked.

skipping up to it, i grip the knob, turning it to the right, and then left. it doesn’t open, as i predicted, and i release it long enough to wriggle my fingers over it like a fool. this time, when i turn the simple screw, i lift the door too, realigning the latch with the slot it has to be fitted into, which was the actual reason ash couldn’t get in.

“ta-da!” i joke, “were you even trying?”

i taunt him, grinning over my shoulder. with the best timing, i’m struck with a cramp that wrenches my stomach horribly.

_fuck fuck shit fuck, i probably need a tampon, thanks for reminding me, evil motherfucking—_

i groan out loud, but do avoid avoid keeling over and trying to die, however barely.

ash quirks an eyebrow, fingergunning in retaliation, running back to his car. wait a minute, where’s cal?

as i’m about to inquire, both boys appear, each with shopping bags on their arms.

calum hands me one with shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and my products. looks like they didn’t take an unnecessary trip to the store just for me. good.

when i go to the bathroom, i place the toiletries in the spots they usually reside and finish my business. discreetly disposing of the nasty used pad, i shiver and wash my hands with luke’s cutesy “winter penguin-land” hand soap, fond of his immaturity.

i return to the family room where i left my boys, met with a very domestic scene that restores my faith in humanity. cake are cuddling on the sectional, looking comfy and sweet, while mashton are having an intense political debate over the dvd player.

“i don’t understand why we can’t watch netflix. this is fucking stupid,” michael reasons, kneeling on the carpet, furiously punching buttons.

“because i bought mean girls and the lion king,” ashton tries to assert.

“those _are on netflix_!” mike exclaims, winning the spat to which ash pouts.

“hey hubbies?” i intervene, leaning my weight on the oldest. “can i have your hoodie?”

he obliges, sliding it over his head and slinging it over his shoulder like a towel. he helps me rid of my designated nap shirt, slipping his too-big, still-warm sweatshirt onto my body.

i take a seat on the floor next to mikey, snatching the remote from him before he can find a way to break it. ashton stands up, tossing mean girls into my lap and turning to join calum in snuggling a half-asleep and very adorable lucas. i watch them longingly, as luke curls further into the chest newly pressed to his back, nuzzling cal’s jaw, softly yawning. i press the eject symbol on the old vcr box, placing the dvd into the available slot. with the remote, i change the input to “hdmi3,” and the selection for lukey’s favorite movie is up.

arching my back, i keep bending until i hear the satisfying crack of tension leaving my bones. i crawl my way back to mikey’s wonderful gaming sofa, and he follows, carefully tackling me before i can get there. he spreads himself out over my back, and the pressure on my spine and lower body is contrastingly comfortable. he flips us so we’re sideways, spooning me with his hands kneading my tummy, and i’m surrounded with an atmosphere of sleepy warmth.


	2. Chapter 2

my eyes droop as i reach for the remote control to play ash’s movie, michael’s breathing across the back of my neck, arms tight around my waist. luke awakens at the opening music, blinking sluggishly but curious. he disentangles himself from cashton, arranging ash so the two remaining inhabitants of the couch are closer together. calum’s eyelids flutter, and he reaches out to fold ashton into his side, cooing and purring or something

“hey baby,” i mumble when the infant of the band plops down on the floor in front of me.

“hi,” lukey whispers back, and i hand off the remote for him to have monopoly over, feeling that it’s the rightful thing to do. he scooches into my personal space, not that i really care; we’re a weirdly close group of people, it's fine. one of michael’s sneaky bisexual hands creep across me to rest upon luke’s sharp hip and they both shift, squishing me between them. 

my arms wrap securely around his ribs, face pressed into the median of his strong shoulder blades. his broad… _everything_ blocks my view of the television, but it’s okay, because his calm presence is relaxing. i close my eyes and lay there, breathing in synchronization with the steady rise and fall of mikey’s chest behind me. the tall blond in front of me giggles at something, and then his stomach grumbles.

i decide that now is a pretty good time to get started on some type of dinner, ruffling luke’s hair and releasing him, snaking out of the body pile to get to my feet. before i make it to the kitchen, i find michael’s bedroom, pulling two throw blankets out of his closet. making my way back to my soft boys, i drape one plush blanket over ash and cal, the second finding its way to muke. i pitch a pillow at luke too, and enter the kitchen.

rifling through the pantry, i find an open box of cheez-its that are probably stale, a cookie tin, and a box of cereal. seeing nothing fit to actually be consumed, i move to the fridge to pilfer.

opening the freezer half, i immediately spy the three frozen pizzas necessary to sustain my small collection of sons. pulling them out of the icebox, i stack them on the counter to let them slightly thaw while the oven preheats. i examine the shitty job michael did hanging the curtains in front of the dining room window while i wait for the timer to go off. seriously though, how do you fuck up so bad that the damn rod is sideways?

the shrill _beepbeepbeep_ of the appliance startles me out of my newfound distrust in mikey’s ability to be a handyman, warranting a scuffle to get the frozen food into the oven without burning myself. shoveling the circular monstrosities hastily onto the rack. thank god ashton is sensible enough to realize that pineapple has _no_ right to dilute the holiness that is pizza.

i mill about the kitchen for a bit longer, setting the timer to notify me when 23 minutes have passed, so i’ll have time to get back in here. before i leave, i pour myself a glass of icewater, shutting off the tap and scuttling back to the living room. while walking, i slip my phone out of my sock, checking the time. i also glance at my notifications, seeing quite the collection of dms and like for my ironic 5sos fan account. i think it’s funny to have one, and i constantly receive a stream of messages wondering if i’m a member of the band with all the unseens i post. 

luke perks up when i reenter, having abandoned mikey, who’s still in the floor, and has now assumed the fetal position under the blanket. his hair is the only part of him visible, sticking out of the top in blond tufts. 

“pizza’s in process,” i inform to my only coherent friend who wraps his arms around me, despite my halfass attempt to evade him. he tries to get me to sit on top of his curled body on the sofa, but i ease myself down next to him instead, remembering that luke is also a two-year-old without much regard towards accidentally injuring himself.

“sounds good,” the baby hums, babbling nonsensically after that, wanting to be coddled. i coo at him because he likes it, but soon hear the oven timer beeping insistently. not wanting to start a fire or burn the food, i try to dislodge his arms from around my body, but i can’t, so we end up sliding off onto the soft carpeted floor. luke’s cold nose jams into my neck, and he still hasn’t released me so that i can keep him from getting food poisoning.

with a stroke of genius, i decide to jab him in the ribs, to which he responds by rolling us both over. it ends up with me underneath luke, for the most part, save for my hand that’s intertwined in his fluffy blond locks. i hiss at him, “you want food? let me up.”

“nooo, please,” he whines back, pouting more animatedly than i’d ever be able to. 

“get up and come with me then,” i retort, still fighting to get out of his hold. luke’s eyes light up, as if he hadn’t considered it before, and he lets me go, only to stand up when i do. as soon as i’ve dusted the carpet fibers off of ash’s hoodie, he smothers me in another hug from behind.

i give up and waddle to the kitchen, deciding that if he’s going to act like this, i might as well embrace it, especially because the others are still asleep. with only luke attached to my vessel, i can still complete menial tasks. i’m not sure if i’ll be able to get the food out.

“can you not just… sit on the table or something? at least until i get it out?” i protest while he clings tighter. i contemplate slamming this giant into the fridge or something to knock him out but then again, i’d probably have to nurse him back to health. 

to my surprise, he _does_ let go to climb up on the counter, though he ends up knocking a box of cereal and my phone off into the floor. in my haste to get rid of him, i forget that the has no ability to maintain balance, whatsoever, and end up catching him with my hip a minute later. when he stabilizes himself, i move to find oven mitts.

it takes about four different drawers to be opened before the gloves manifest, and i snatch them and pull them on, hurrying so the pizza won’t catch fire. tossing down the oven door, i hastily remove our frozen dinner. my stomach rumbles conveniently, and i peel the gloves back off, placing them back in the same cabinet they came out of. luke, to my left, mutters something about how he was getting hungry, then thanks me and accuses me of being a mom friend, which i am, but i’ll lock horns with him some other time over it.

“can i have a piece now?” he murmurs, leaning his head on my shoulder. i ghost a hand over the top of the steaming dinner, deeming it too hot to eat.

“not right now, it’’ll burn you,” i say, going against everything i said four minutes earlier. while waiting, i stretch upwards to tangle my fingers into his long-ish hair a second time, to tame the small knots and little curls. he’s growing it out to match ashton, which i think is adorable, but it’s unruly and luke doesn’t put much effort into fixing it.

i hear movement from the other room, and then a cacophony of yawns and sneezes. michael drags in, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and wrinkles his nose.

“ ‘that pizza?” he looks kind of like a caveman, with three day scruff and his distressed t-shirt.

“yeah,” luke responds, still crowded in my personal space. “ ‘s hot though. she won’t let me have any.” 

“because it’ll burn you,” i deadpan again. “and then you’ll make me ‘fix it’.”

“no i won’t!” he exclaims, crossing his arms with pursed lips.

“yes you will, ‘cause you’re literally three,” i argue, raising my eyebrows.

“dude, she’s right,” ashton butts in, entering the kitchen with calum strewn across his back. both their hair is fluffy; the whole band looks smol. 

“yeah,” calum agrees, “but she’s giving you more than i think you actually are.”

i push michael out of the way from where he stands blocking my path, armed with a pizza cutter, a stack of paper plates, and a plastic fork. working to slice the pizza into somewhat congruent triangles to keep ashton from having another episode. 

“why the fuck do you need a fork, just use your hands,” michael complains, “it isn’t that hard.”

“no it isn’t, but i don’t wanna get grease everywhere. plus, my jaw hurts from the floor earlier,” i stick with my explanation. 

“in other words,” ashton states, waiting for me to finish.

“fuck you, i’m punk rock, i do what i want,” i quote the dragon himself with a wink, and the boys burst into laughter while i continue separating the food. once the task has been completed, i set three slices on each paper plate, handing them off to whoever’s closest. i take my own back to the family room, plopping onto the couch, scrabbling for the remote.

calum follows my example soon after, sliding an arm around my shoulder, while luke cuddles into my free side. netflix loads, the buffering circle of death not lasting as long as i expected, and i browse through the options displayed. 

no one objects when i select narcos, nor do they give another suggestion when i choose the midseason episode i’m already on. luke’s breath puffs out against my collarbone, where’s he’s nestled in against me, falling asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shite ending, my bad


End file.
